The other glass

“It’s five o’clock on a Saturday…the regular crowd shuffles in…”

He giggled to himself as the Billy Joel lyrics sprang to mind upon entering Gloria Jeans as usual this Saturday afternoon at 5pm. He looked around sheepishly for an old man making love to his tonic and gin. He giggled again.

Spotting his favourite table, he eased himself into the chair, carefully placing pen and notebook before him. He perused the crowd, sipping his Cookies and Cream Chiller.

What would it be today, he wondered.

Of course.

Carlo.

How he missed him.. the way he would come lumbering over the hill. How he would notice him from miles away and almost frolic over.

It had tickled him. Cows frolic! Go figure. He didn’t think there was anything quite so magical, so delightful, so touching as seeing this big calico cow frolic over to see him.

And they would play. Tentatively at first as they got to know each other…(not that it had ever been his intention to play, let alone interact, with ANY of them…he was just running! Running through the holy fields as he did, clearing his mind, airing his soul – and they trapped him.)

Yes, at first it was tentative. He didn’t have much choice really – they had blocked his path in their enthusiasm.

Go figure! Cows are enthusiastic too!

So he reached out his hand. Yeah, they COULD chomp it off if they wanted, but they didn’t. Carlo didn’t. He sniffed, then licked.

And it was the beginning of a daily communion. A friendship. He running, breathing, filling, Carlo frolicking, nibbling, talking. It was like that.

Until one day it wasn’t.

A Friday, he remembered as the pen scurried across the page, the words blurred by  tears.

He reached for the other glass.

Jasmin Webb